


Story of Legolas and Enóreth, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Canon - Non-canonical to good purpose, Canon - Outstanding AU/reinterpretation, Canon - Solves frequent reader complaint, Characters - Good villain(s), Characters - New interpretation, Characters - OOC to good purpose, Characters - Outstanding OC(s), Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Well-handled emotions, Humor, Plot - Can't stop reading, Plot - Fast moving, Plot - Good pacing, Plot - I reread often, Plot - Joy, Plot - Surprising reversals, War of the Ring, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Good use of humor, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s), Writing - Well-handled dialogue, Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2002-08-18
Packaged: 2018-03-22 11:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3726950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can Legolas get through this twisted fairy tale without losing his sanity?<br/>This story will make heaps more sense if you've first read "The Fanfic Lounge: The Lord of the Rings."  Or you can just read this one on its own and revel in the confusion.  ;o)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

            Night had fallen over the plains of the Rohirrim. The heaviness of the air hid the stars from view, melding earth and sky to shadow in the distance.  As the land approached the line of downs to the North it rose into shallow slopes. Sheltered from the chilling breeze by one of these slopes, Aragorn and Gimli slept soundly.  Three days of relentless chase were taking their toll.  

Only Legolas remained awake and kept watch over his companions.  He stood upon the brow of the hill, gazing northward and singing softly to himself.  Always his keen elvish eyes sought the trail before them, and his clear voice carried on the wind, gentle and uplifting.  What thoughts ran beneath the words of his song, drifting back to lighter times or bent upon the desperate journey ahead, his fair face would not betray. 

Though the land bore the marks of many marching feet that had passed this way, the plains were now empty.  There was no movement, save for the ghostly ripple of the wind through the grass.  It was perhaps this stillness that deceived Legolas, for the first whisper of a presence was faint and fleeting enough to be dismissed as a worrying thought, a fear that their quarry was slipping forever beyond reach.  He sighed, casting away the notion.  The moment passed and was forgotten.

Some time had gone by when the feeling returned, and Legolas was now aware that something was wrong.  His waking senses perceived no threat, but an apprehension too heavy to brush aside was pressing upon his heart.  He narrowed his eyes into the night, and drawing his knife he readied himself for any possible danger.  None came, yet the feeling would not pass.  Perhaps it would be wise to wake Aragorn and tell him of his concern?  But Legolas shook his head.  His companions were far too weary to be disturbed for the sake of a whim, and if Gimli discovered that Legolas was fretting about imagined fears like a child in the dark his mockery would be great indeed.  Restless still, Legolas drew his cloak about him and began to pace to ease his thoughts.  

 Suddenly full realisation burst upon him, bringing with it a cold wave of shock and dismay.  Deep within his mind a force was drawing him, relentless as an ebbing tide, and Legolas knew all too well what it meant.  His steps faltered as if he were ill.  Pressing a hand to his brow, he held himself rigid and breathed deeply of the cold air – all to no avail.  The world grew dim before him.  He was weakening.

"No," he gasped.  "No!  Not now!"

But the pull was already too great, and it intensified with each passing moment.  His voice failed him and he could not cry out to his friends.  At last, with a despairing shudder, he felt his will give way.  His body slackened; the knife slipped from his hand and fell unheeded to the ground.  Had Aragorn and Gimli awoken at that moment they would have found him standing as if he were carved in stone, his eyes fixed on the horizon and unseeing.

* * *

**Coming Up:** Ai!  Ai!  A Mary Sue is come!


	2. A Mary Sue Is Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Legolas get through this twisted fairy tale without losing his sanity?

When Legolas came to himself he stood blinking in confusion, for his eyes were dazzled with brilliant sunlight. Hismemory abandoned him and he did not understand. How had it gone from darkness to broad daylight in the space of three seconds? And why could he hear a stream rushing nearby when the last flowing water they had seen was the river Entwash, one day's travel behind them? 

Then, before he could even begin to fathom the answer, a voice called to him, "Legolas? Legolas!" And as his vision cleared his bewilderment gave way to astonishment, for there before his very eyes stood Mithrandir, Gandalf the Grey. 

Legolas staggered back, not believing what he saw. Many long days past had Gandalf been lost in Khazad-dûm – and yet here he was, standing in the impossible sunlight next to the stream that could not be there. And nearby sat Frodo and Samwise, and Merry and Pippin, smoking their pipes as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Here also was Boromir seemingly unaware that he had been slain at Amon Hen, and Aragorn and Gimli gazing at Legolas with mild curiosity. 

"You look pale of a sudden, Legolas," said Aragorn. "Are you not well?"

Legolas, who by now was fearing phantoms or sorcery or maybe even a sudden fall into lunacy on his part, was quite at a loss for what to say. Gandalf (or the creature who appeared to be Gandalf) was puzzled. "Does something trouble you?" he asked. "Perhaps one of us should go with you."

"Go!" managed Legolas at last. "I...."

"What do you mean, 'go'?" said Gimli impatiently. "Did you not tell us just now that you were going to take a look around?"

This baffled Legolas all the more, because of course he had no memory of saying such a thing. He opened his mouth to refute the claim and cry out his distress. Then, just as things were about to become rather awkward, a flash of insight came upon him. He restrained himself and feigned a look of comprehension. "I did!" he said hastily. "Yes! A very good idea. Pardon me...." And off he fled.

Only when he was a good distance away and safely out of sight did he pause to gather his wits about him. He hid himself in a grove of small trees near the stream and looked this way and that, trying to determine where he was. At first sight the land seemed strange to him; the ground was rough, covered in low-lying bushes and spotted with snow. In a moment, however, he recognised the thin cold air of the mountains, and he soon discovered the familiar peak of Caradhras looming behind him. Then he found his bearings and began to understand. It was not witchcraft after all, nor was it insanity – but the alternative hardly reassured him.

Somehow, Legolas had returned to early days of the Quest. The Fellowship was yet whole, and not much time had passed since their departure from Rivendell. If memory served him correctly, they had just attempted the treacherous ascent of Caradhras and failed. And because he remained aware of all that was to occur – the journey through Moria, the stay in Lothlórien, the breaking of the Fellowship and the pursuit into Rohan – Legolas could make but one conclusion. Though this land was by all appearances Middle-earth, it was merely an imitation. A force beyond his understanding, known to him only as "Fan Fiction," had drawn him forth from the lands he knew and placed him here.

A great mystery to the races of Middle-earth were these "Stories," this ever-changing world created by the whims of writers in a realm far away. Few could speak of the strange happenings that took place within these borders, and yet there were some who had been brought hither many times, so the legends went. Legolas himself, possessing the heightened awareness of the Eldar race, knew that this was by no means the first time he had been here, nor would it be the last. Yet his knowledge was little, for the powers at work removed all but the faintest memories from the minds of those they summoned. Only vague conceptions did Legolas hold of what lay ahead, and they troubled him. Anxious and wary, he waited.

Slowly his thoughts grew clear, and snatches of memory returned. As this seemed to be the beginning of the Story, Legolas decided it would not be much longer before some message was sent to him in one way or another, informing him as to what purpose he had been brought here. He stood still and silent, listening. Yet long minutes passed with no sign, and he began to fear that the Fellowship would come searching for him before he was ready. 

Suddenly there was a flutter of wings, and a sparrow lighted on a branch within arm's reach of Legolas. She perched there – a cheerful, bright-eyed little thing – and gazed at the Elf with such a friendly expression that he was glad of the comfort, however small.

"Well met, little friend," he murmured half to himself. "Would that you were able to speak, and bring a kind word to those in need."

"Aw, do you feel lost?" said the sparrow, a bit out of breath. "Don't worry, it will pass. The trip over is always disorienting."

Legolas started and eyed her askance. Birds that spoke with common speech were not unheard of. Indeed, there were many such creatures mentioned in the lore of the Elves. But few appeared so unexpectedly, or spoke in so straightforward a manner.

"May I suppose," said he, when he trusted himself to react calmly, "that you are one of the Forces who summoned me to this place?"

"Me, one of the Forces?" the sparrow said. "Oh, heavens no! I just work for them, and a bossy lot they are too. I was having a nice birdbath until they rudely interrupted me and sent me flying over here as fast as I could go. I mean, really, common decency...." She stopped and looked embarrassed. "Oh, but that's of small consequence for someone who just transported to a parallel dimension, isn't it? Goodness, where are my manners? It's a pleasure to meet you. I am one of the Guides, and you must be Legolas Greenleaf."

Legolas nodded.

"Good, good," she said. "Sorry we had to pull you out of such a crucial moment in the Quest, but you know how it is."

"Ai, the Quest! the halflings!" cried Legolas with renewed alarm, for her words had brought the desperation of their plight flooding back to memory. "I cannot stay here! Merry and Pippin—"

"Easy now," the Guide soothed him. "Time in Middle-earth has no meaning here, remember? You won't have lost a moment when you get back. But first there are things you must attend to. Don't you hear something?"

Still distressed in spite of the Guide's assurances, Legolas paused to listen. There was a new sound on the wind – a high keening noise, dipping and soaring in pitch to a seemingly random tune. He did not know who or what it was, but it somehow filled him with an odd combination of dread and irritation.

The sparrow spoke again. "I'd better leave you to it. For now, follow that sound to its source. Things will be clearer to you then, and I'll be along presently to give you further information. Goodbye!" And she flew off before Legolas could detain or question her.

As any Elf of noble birth, Legolas was courageous and strong of spirit. Even so, such an astounding string of events in so short a time would have been a strain on anyone, and for a moment he was loath to abandon the relative calm and comfort of his little grove. But soon enough he steadied himself, and squaring his shoulders he set out in the direction of the strange tune. It led him to a place where the stream widened to a clear pool surrounded by holly bushes. There the singing could be clearly heard; for it was indeed a song (though an artless and irksome one) that someone was lifting to the air. Recognising it as such, Legolas was quick to espy the singer standing at the edge of the pool. 

Clad in flowing white with a belt of silver flowers about her slender waist, she glowed like a fallen star amidst the dark green leaves. Her skin was flawless, as white and smooth as new milk, and her hair (golden-red as copper gleaming in the light of a thousand candles) fell in heavy locks to her waist. She ceased her song and lifted her eyes to him; he saw they were soulful and deep, and they shone cerulean and endless as still pools beneath a summer sky (or some such poetry). Thus Legolas for the first time beheld Enóreth, daughter of Men, kindred of the Elves, and deemed the dearest of treasures among her people. And as he gazed upon her he sighed, for he knew in his heart that the presence of so fair a maiden could only mean that he would be entangled in an irrational tale of romance ere the day was spent. 

"Hail, Legolas Greenleaf!" she said (in a voice at once sweet, haunting, and slightly ear-splitting).

"You know who I am," he said, though it came as little surprise. 

The maiden lowered her head, allowing the sunlight to gleam over the ripples of her hair. "I have searched many long days for you," she said. "I am Enóreth, and I am weary and in peril. I only pray to reach some safe haven where I might find rest and sanctuary!" And she gazed at him with hope and coquettish admiration mingling in those unsettling blue eyes.

" _A Elbereth_ , protect me!" murmured Legolas. To Enóreth he simply replied, "Then be at peace, for you are among friends here. Come, if you will. My companions are near at hand."

Enóreth smiled with a flash of very white teeth and stepped forward to take the hand he offered. Then, with his arm clutched as if in a vice every step of the way, Legolas led this apparition of an unknown world to meet the Fellowship of the Ring.

* * *

**Coming Up:** Enóreth tells her story. Oh joy.


	3. Enóreth's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Legolas get through this twisted fairy tale without losing his sanity?

Upon reaching the little rocky hollow to which he had first opened his eyes, Legolas found the Fellowship in the process of setting up camp and building a fire. Their movements and quiet conversation were familiar to him, and it was comforting to realise that these were indeed his friends whether they knew of the Story or not. He even fancied that a look of pained sympathy ghosted through their eyes when they saw him in Enóreth's company. If so, it was quickly hidden and replaced with one of polite curiosity.

"The Elf goes scouting for enemies and finds a woman?" said Gimli in a low voice to Samwise. "How did _she_ get here?"

"Blessed if I know," Sam murmured back. "But goodness, that's quite a pretty dress to be wearing in the mountains."

"Legolas," said Aragorn gravely, "who is this fair creature?"

"She calls herself Enóreth," replied Legolas, then hesitated, unsure of how to continue.

He need not have worried, for the maiden saw her opportunity and seized it. Sweeping forward with singular grace, she bowed low before Aragorn and pressed his hand to her lips. " _Mae govannen,_ " she said, fumbling the pronunciation, "Heir of Isildur! Mercy, I beseech thee, to one who has travelled many leagues to serve you!"

"Granted, certainly," said Aragorn rather taken aback. "But by what motive do you seek me that mercy is needed?"

Enóreth straightened with touching dignity, took a moment to rearrange the artistic drape of her skirts, and said, "I come bearing a warning to you all. Great danger waits for you in the journey ahead."

"Well, we knew _that,_ " said Pippin with a dark look toward Caradhras. "There doesn't seem to be much avoiding it, now does there?"

"A-hem," said Gandalf sharply, and fortified the hint with a glare from beneath his bushy brows. Then, as one determined to wait out some ordeal with patience, he settled himself beside the fire and began to fill his pipe. "Perhaps, my dear child," he said by rote, "you should begin by telling us from whence you came and the circumstances that brought you to us."

A hush fell; the very birds in the thickets ceased their chirping. Enóreth stood before the Fellowship with her head tilted back, seeking strength and solace from the clear morning sky. Then, softly, she began to sing:

_The stars shone high above the trees,_  
the world in heavy silence lay,  
when from the Light beyond the seas  
a child of –

"No no no, don't _sing_ it," said Gandalf a trifle sourly. "We shall be kept here for hours if we get that started. Just tell us what happened."

"Oh. Okay," said Enóreth blankly.

Her tale must have been heart-wrenching indeed, for none among the Fellowship could restrain dreary sighs as she tearfully recounted the tragedy of her childhood. She had been but an infant when orcs had attacked her family's village (though she had quite a vivid memory of the event for all that). The slaughter of Men and their wives and children had been merciless, and it still remained a mystery as to why the orcs had spared this infant girl and no one else. Still more of a puzzle was their attempt to carry her off unharmed, an effort which could only have hindered them in their flight to Mordor. Whatever the case, when a band of Wood Elves overtook and slew this scourge of foul vermin, they were amazed to discover a tiny, dimpled dewdrop of a baby, cooing and gurgling within the folds of her pink blanket.

This foundling infant of mortal Men was brought to the land of the Elves and taken before the King. Of course there was only one logical thing for that wise and noble monarch to do: adopt her and raise her as an elven princess, more dearly beloved than his own kin. This he did, and he named her Enóreth, the Lady of the Crescent Moon.

"Why 'Crescent Moon'?" wondered Merry aloud. "Was there such a moon when they found you?"

Enóreth seemed bewildered by the notion. "There was no moon at all that night. Mine is simply a grand and noble-sounding title of which my dearest foster-father deemed me worthy."

Merry blinked. "Hold on a moment. You mean he named you that just because it sounds nice?"

"It _does_ sound nice, doesn't it?" Enóreth replied cheerfully.

"Why, Legolas," Merry exclaimed, "do Elves do this often?"

Legolas wanted more than anything to maintain that they most certainly did not, but he knew a hopeless argument when he saw one. "It is not ... common practice," he said feebly.

"Well that makes absolutely no sense," Merry grumbled, moments before Aragorn silenced him by flipping his cloak over his head.

"Forgive the interruption," said Aragorn sweetly. "Pray do finish your tale, my lady. Quickly, if you please."

And so she continued:

Years passed in peace and harmony as Enóreth grew to the full bloom of womanhood amongst the Elves. All that knew her loved her, and she shone with warmth and beauty wherever she went. Indeed, many of the Elf lords grew quite enamoured with this enchanting creature who had become more radiant than Arwen Undómiel herself. (At this point in the narrative Aragorn sneezed violently and had to excuse himself. Fortunately, Enóreth was all patience and went merrily on as soon as he was suitably composed.) As she was also blessed with wisdom and strength beyond her mortal existence, she tried her hand in the arts of swordplay and archery. In little more than a year she became the most skilled warrior in all the land. None who stood against her could hope to match her agility and speed.

"Really!" said Boromir in a strange voice, and took to fidgeting restlessly with his sword hilt. "Imagine that!"

For a time all was bright and lovely in Enóreth's world. But then (oh horrors never-ending!) darkness pressed its foul cup to the maiden's lips and she could do naught but drink deep of its bitterness. For as Sauron's might grew in the East another powerful being, one who desired the Ring for his own devices, was building his strength near the enchanted forest where the Elves made their home. One dreadful day they found themselves betrayed by one whom they had trusted most among Mortal and Immortal alike – the great and powerful wizard, Finrond the Purple.

"Finrond the _Purple_?!" sputtered Gandalf. "What in the name of – !" Then he remembered himself and lowered his voice with an effort. "Oh. Yes. Finrond the Purple. Of course." He fell silent and said nothing more, but sat glowering and muttering under his breath for the rest of Enóreth's tale. 

Again Enóreth's home and family were laid under siege by a foul army, now under the dread Finrond's command. Enóreth fought valiantly alongside her fellow warriors (proving herself the most valiant by far, of course) but in the end the Elves were banished and their King slain. Such a devastating blow was quite enough to break her tender heart in two, but her trial had only begun. As Finrond strode into the ruins of the palace he came upon the fiery-haired woman of exquisite fairness mourning over the body of the fallen King. At the sight of her the wizard's heart was seized with a fiendish lust. Such a maiden would make a fine prize, and once subdued to his will she would surely be of use to him. Enóreth was taken prisoner and borne away to torment and despair, and Finrond did his best to break her pure spirit. Though he was unable to defeat her utterly, a horrible curse was laid upon her, fashioned to advance his pursuit of the One Ring. 

"Only by great effort and bravery was I able to escape his dungeons – and still his curse lingers in me," she said woefully. "An evil identity has been placed within my mind, one which only requires a final stroke of Finrond's magic to be brought forth. Under his spell I am the Dark Warrior, the Lady of Darkness, Queen of All Things Dark and Unpleasant. Such is your peril as well as mine! For now as Finrond's will is bent upon the Ring he will withhold no evil in pursuing you. And I – alas, I am she who has been chosen as the weapon with which he seeks to strike you down!" So saying, Enóreth bowed her head and waited for the full horror of the revelation to grip them. 

Boromir gazed at her with a bemused look on his face. "This is Finrond's greatest villainy?" he said. "Setting one mortal woman against the nine of us?" Then by some afterthought he added, "How awful!"

"That's a rather roundabout way of doing things," said Frodo in a sceptical (and innocently mournful) tone. "Why not attack us himself, if his power is as great as you say?"

"But do you not see, this is the extent of his ruthlessness!" Enóreth exclaimed. "To corrupt purity, to breed darkness in those most beautiful and turn it against the forces of good! And if the Fellowship faces destruction by one so seemingly innocent and fair – surely this is the greatest threat of all!" She paused, looked around at their expressions, and insisted, "I mean it! Do not underestimate his power or my skill! I am a great danger to you!"

"Oh, that's dreadful!" cried Pippin. "And still more dreadful that you had to come all the way out here to find us, rather than put us as far out of your reach as possible while you still had the chance!"

Enóreth eyed Pippin suspiciously. Then she seemed to decide that the hobbit was far too cute to be making fun of her and broke into a benevolent smile. "You are so kind, little one!" she said, and much to Merry's amusement she patted him on the head.

By this time Legolas was feeling rather despondent. For all its lack of common sense Enóreth's tale had begun to sound hauntingly familiar to him, as if he had heard it told many times before. Within this half-remembered dismay was a foreboding that at some point, regardless of his inclination on the matter, he would have a great part to play in the maiden's tale. The intuition was a sound one. As if summoned by his thoughts, the Guide suddenly flitted from her hiding place and perched nearby, unseen by any of the others.

"Slip away for a moment and I'll have a word with you," said she. "Quietly, now."

So with increasing apprehension Legolas quitted the Fellowship's company and moved off into the trees. There the sparrow made herself comfortable on his shoulder and twittered into his ear, in the most encouraging manner possible, the fate to which the Story had bound him.

* * *

**Coming Up:** Legolas receives his assignment. Frodo does the pouty-face thing.


	4. Legolas' Assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Legolas get through this twisted fairy tale without losing his sanity?

"Absolutely not!" cried Legolas. He was pacing so fiercely, the sparrow was in constant flight trying to keep up with him. "It is beyond all reason!"

The sparrow sighed. "Oh, I knew you'd be upset," she said. "I'm very sorry, but the Forces created the rules, not me. Your friends have dealt with Stories of their own, the Ring-bearer most of all. He will not think ill of you for doing what you must."

"I care not!" he retorted. "How can I justify abandoning them at such a time? I tell you it is madness!"

"It certainly would be if this were really Middle-earth," she said wryly. "Legolas, you know as well as I do that the events of this place rarely have anything to do with what goes on in your world. You won't even remember the Story after you're sent back."

She spoke the truth, but it was sorry comfort. Once more Legolas struggled to escape this loathsome task. "I have not the knowledge by which to do this! How would I know where to go or what to do? Or perhaps you would say I am doomed to grope in blind ignorance to the bitter end!"

"Of course not," said the Guide, and she began to show signs of impatience. "You've done this enough times to know the procedure, so stop pretending you don't. Once you complete a Chapter you will be allowed to move on to the next. The Guides will be along to give you instructions when you need them. The Story will end when the villain is defeated and the maiden set free. Do as you're told and you should be fine."

"And if I refuse? What then?" he replied hotly.

The sparrow drew back and shivered a little at the idea. "Now, see, that's dangerous thinking. There are some things you can get away with, but you don't want to get the Forces angry with you. They can be touchy, and sometimes if they really want you to do something they'll reach out and _make_ you do it. Very unpleasant. I'd follow the rules if I were you."

There were no words that would counter her argument. Legolas turned his head away and would not look at her, though in truth he knew that the Guide was not to blame. To her credit, she did not allow herself to be offended. Though hers was often a thankless job, the ordeals of those she instructed were a far sight worse. In a placating gesture she alighted on Legolas' wrist and he begrudgingly allowed it.

"Listen, I understand your resentment, I really do," she said. "It's a challenge for anyone to endure the humiliation these Stories can bring, especially with the events that await you back home. But at least you may be assured that no lasting harm will come to you here! The weight of the Quest has been lifted from you, for a time. All you have to worry about is keeping the Forces happy until the Story is over. Surely that is within your power."

He sighed heavily but nodded. "Very well," he said. "I will do the best I can."

"That's all we ask of you," she said kindly.

At so sombre a moment, it was a cruel and petty irony that caused Enóreth to break into song from across the hollow. Legolas winced and even the sparrow flitted her wings and scowled (as much as a sparrow can scowl) in the maiden's direction. "Well, I suppose I had better go over there," she said. "We birds are supposed to find her songs enchanting, for some reason. Good luck with your Story, Legolas, and keep an eye out for the Guides!"

With that she flew away, leaving Legolas alone and in a difficult spot. It was laid on him to make a choice that was both foolish and exasperating, yet what else could be done? Resignedly he looked out over the camp. Boromir was keeping watch, the hobbits and Gimli had wandered off to their own amusements, and Gandalf had walked some distance away to express his anger in private. (Among the wizard's tirades Legolas heard something about "stupid tart" and "disgrace to the Istari," as well as a few other phrases that do not bear repeating.) That left only Aragorn to address the matter.

Aragorn was busy unloading the last of the gear from the pony. Legolas approached with dragging feet and requested a word with him. 

"Of course, Legolas," Aragorn replied. He laid down the bundles and turned to face him. "What is on your mind?"

"Simply this," said Legolas, and hesitated. Such unspeakable absurdity.... But he pressed on. "I fear the threat of Enóreth's tale is too great to ignore. I know now what must be done."

Aragorn gazed at him and waited. Legolas took a steadying breath. "I have to leave the Fellowship for a time," he said. "Clearly I must journey with Enóreth and defeat the dark curse laid upon her."

If Aragorn was startled by the news, he did a good job of hiding it. "You have to ... leave," he said.

"Yes," replied Legolas.

"In the middle of the Quest."

"It looks that way."

Aragorn looked off to one side and scratched his chin as if he was trying very hard to work this out. "So the battle against Sauron, the destruction of the One Ring...."

Legolas could feel his face getting hot. He gritted his teeth. "I ... I am going to have to put it off until later."

"Aha," said Aragorn. "And afterwards, you'll just ... what, catch up with us or something?"

"I shall certainly try my hardest," the Elf said stiffly.

Aragorn mulled this over. Then he craned his neck to look at Enóreth as she warbled away, surrounded by birds and rabbits and a spotted fawn or two. He seemed dazed for a moment, then shook himself and resumed unloading the baggage. "I see," he said. "Well! Sounds perfectly logical to me. Good luck on your journey."

It was almost too much to bear. In spite of himself, Legolas said in a wheedling tone, "Of course, if you would rather I stay...."

"No, no!" Aragorn turned and clasped his shoulder. "Go with her, Legolas. She _needs_ you." The words were grave enough. But there was a suspicious twinkle in Aragorn's eyes, and as Legolas walked away he could have sworn that he heard him chuckling. 

The time had now come to for the journey to begin. But Legolas was not at all eager, and he looked about for some way to delay his departure. In a moment he saw Frodo sitting by himself at edge of the stream. Legolas decided to bid him farewell. Abandoning the hobbit to his Quest was unpardonable, but it would be pure insult to leave without explanation or apology.

Frodo seemed lost in thought. Legolas approached with care, not wanting to startle him. "Frodo," he said. "At Imladris I pledged my word to the Fellowship and to you. Now it troubles me greatly to go back on my promise."

"Oh, it's all right," said Frodo sorrowfully. "This burden is mine to bear after all. You cannot lighten it, though I appreciate your efforts. I bear you no ill will, my friend."

"If there were any other way..." said Legolas. 

"Alas! there is none!" mourned Frodo. "At least I have the consolation of knowing you will protect her. She must not go alone, so fair, so brave!" Then he paused, glanced over his shoulder, and leaned close. "Is she really that bad?" he whispered.

Legolas understood: for the moment all pretence was dropped. Glad for the confidence, he sighed wearily and sat down beside Frodo. "It would seem so. She is singing again."

"Oh no!" said Frodo dismayed. "Is that what that noise is? My ears have been ringing for five minutes and I can't hear half as well as you!"

"I know," Legolas replied, and pressed his fingers against his brow where a persistent ache had developed. "I fear there are dark times ahead."

Frodo shook his head in pity. There was a brief silence; Enóreth's voice floated on the breeze. Legolas spoke again, hoping to drown out the sound. "I suppose from your sudden melancholy that you are in a Story as well?"

"Yes, actually," said Frodo, and he sounded considerably more cheerful than he had a moment ago. "We'll be lingering here for a while, and I'll be plagued with all manner of nightmares and ailments. Sam set himself up to cure me and thus took most of the work, the dear fellow. I really haven't much to do besides sleeping fitfully and toddling about looking vulnerable."

"Ailments?" asked Legolas with idle curiosity. "Do you fall ill by the power of the Ring?"

Frodo grinned: a rare occurrence. "No, I just fall ill. No particular reason. I honestly think they forget all about the Ring in this one. It isn't even bothering me right now." And he pulled the Ring from his pocket and twirled it on its chain as if it were nothing more than a trinket.

"An advantage to these Stories, I suppose," said Legolas.

"I suppose," Frodo replied, putting the Ring away. "It will get frightfully dull, though, lying down and getting spoon-fed all day long. And Strider has to spend hours hugging me too. It becomes ... awkward."

"It must indeed," said Legolas. There was another pause, longer this time.

"Oh, there will be bathing involved, did I mention that?" said Frodo. "I'd be glad to miss that if I were you."

Legolas did not answer. 

"The sun is high," Frodo remarked after a time, gently.

There were no more reasons to postpone the journey, and Legolas knew it. With a heavy heart he looked to the glade where Enóreth was singing. Just at that moment she finished her song and the animals scattered far and wide, rejoicing to be free.

"I wish I could go back," he mumbled. (It was not the last time that he wished that!)

Frodo smiled at him. "I know, Legolas. I know."

* * *

**Coming Up:** Legolas has a really crappy day. Enóreth is, like, damn annoying and stuff.


	5. A Crappy Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Legolas get through this twisted fairy tale without losing his sanity?

It was nearly noon by the time they departed from the Fellowship. When Enóreth discovered that Legolas would accompany her she spent nearly half an hour voicing her gratitude. She needed an hour further to fetch her bundles, change into a travelling costume of embroidered green velvet, and weave her hair into a coil of intricate braids bound with clasps of gold. Then and only then was she ready to be off. Legolas and Enóreth were sent on their way with good wishes, advice of varying quality, and poorly disguised teasing. As the voices of his friends faded into the distance, it seemed to Legolas that a great weight was bearing down upon him. The road ahead seemed to stretch endlessly to a bleak horizon. Enóreth, on the other hand, seemed quite happy to be marching into certain peril. She stepped along jauntily, glancing in Legolas' direction and giving little sighs of contentment. 

The stream spilled out from the pool below Caradhras, and its bank was their chosen path. As Enóreth put it, "The tumbling water shall be our guide, for it will take us North along the Misty Mountains, through a forest veiled in deep shadow, to towering cliffs and a mighty river. There in his fortress does Finrond lurk and cast his spells of darkness; there does my doom lie!"

This was a puzzle to Legolas, for he knew that there were no forests or cliffs to speak of West of the Misty Mountains. Furthermore, the only mighty river to the North was the Bruinen, and following the mountains in that direction should simply bring them to Rivendell. This would have made the situation very confusing had Legolas allowed himself to worry about it. But as a character worth his salt, he was quick to realise that this land was ruled only by the will of the Story. If the Story said there was a forest to the North, there was a forest to the North. Niggling details like geography could be ignored. 

And so they journeyed along the winding stream. Before long they reached the edges of the forest, and it was indeed a gloomy, shadowy place. Mist crept among the trees and the light became dim and heavy as if it were dusk instead of midday. Legolas looked behind and found that Caradhras was no longer in sight. Now truly there was no turning back.

Enóreth gazed about her and shivered. Then she lifted her chin, strode toward a hill near the trail, and began to climb. She was nearly to the top before Legolas realised he was supposed to follow her. He hurried to catch up and they reached the highest point to find the forest stretched out before them, illuminated with shafts of sunlight piercing the clouds. Far in the distance the line of cliffs was visible, a dark jagged line standing out against the pale sky. With building fanfare Enóreth stretched out her arm and cried, "Behold!"

Legolas looked. "What?" he said.

"Well... that," said Enóreth. "That's where we're going."

"Very well," he replied. "We shall set out at once."

Enóreth was shocked. "But wouldst you not pause and reflect on the gravity of our situation? The fragile thread by which our fate now hangs? One cannot be careless about such matters, you know!"

Legolas could see there was no arguing with her. So they stayed, and a mile of their journey could have been covered in the time they wasted on the hilltop. At last Enóreth decided that they had contemplated the delicate balance of destiny long enough, and they climbed back down to the trail and went forth into the shadows. She sang a few more songs to commemorate the event.

If in any corner of Legolas' mind there lingered a vague familiarity with the lands around him, it was banished forever in those first hours of travel. Try though it might to be Middle-earth, the world swiftly betrayed itself as the lawless and altogether bizarre creation of the Story. The pine forest became a birch forest without the slightest warning; the climate went from mild to blustery and back again in less than five minutes; the foreign mountains (for the Hithaeglir they were not by any stretch of the imagination) loomed close to the right at one moment, disappeared from view at the next, and inexplicably reappeared to the left a few minutes later. Soon Legolas' sense of direction was so hopelessly muddled that the course of the stream was his only assurance they were going the right way. And even that, he was wont to grumble to himself, could not be fully trusted.

But perhaps most disturbing of all were the cliffs far ahead. While on the hilltop Legolas had noted their positions and made what he thought to be a good measurement of the length of the journey. Yet a good while later when next the cliffs came into sight, not one step closer did they appear even to his discerning eyes. It was as if they were retreating before him, mocking him as they kept their distance. 

At first he could see no rhyme or reason to any of these occurrences and resigned himself to be cast about by random fate. But when a melancholy song from Enóreth's lips found answer in a sudden moaning of the wind and deepening of the shadows, he began to harbour a morbid suspicion. And when a flood of sunshine poured through the treetops at the very moment she chose to unbind the shining lengths of her hair, Legolas was convinced of the dismal truth. All aspects of this place, right down to the stones in the path and the clouds in the sky, existed for the express purpose of glorifying Enóreth. The very trees seemed to sway toward the maiden as she walked among them, blindly seeking her until Legolas grieved for them in their thraldom. "You poor tormented creatures!" he murmured to them. "Are all living things beyond escape?"

Later in the afternoon, Legolas and Enóreth came across a spring of clear water bubbling up from the earth and forming a pretty little pool. Though it seemed of small consequence, it marked a critical moment for Legolas. Here for the first time the Forces of the Story revealed themselves to him, and he truly realised the peril that lay in wait if he for a moment lowered his defences. Enóreth insisted on bathing in the spring before they took another step, and this meant (of course) that Legolas had to stand guard nearby. For a little while he watched the forest and thought idle thoughts, glad to have a moment to himself. Then suddenly a dragging force besieged his mind, and for a harrowing ten minutes he was almost irresistibly compelled to toss off his clothes and splash in after her. In the end he triumphed and fought the urge away, but it took all the strength of his will and left him dizzy, short of breath, and terrified beyond all imagination. 

Needless to say, when Enóreth returned she found her guardian more anxious and irritable than ever. As they pressed onward Legolas was ever glancing over his shoulder, and he cringed and recoiled like a hunted thing at the slightest sound. Enóreth was puzzled by such behaviour, but she later decided that it was a sign of growing concern for her welfare. Rather touched, she tried to calm him down by speaking of happier times. This only served to strain his ragged nerves further, for she spoke endlessly in a prattling turn of phrase the likes of which he had never heard before: 

"So then _I'm_ like _listen_ Mister High and Mighty, _I'm_ powerful, _I'm_ all in touch with the magic and everything, why should _I_ have to sit at home and embroider and stuff because that is like _so_ not fair to women that we have to put up with that kind of attitude in Middle-earth when we're every _bit_ as smart as men and so much prettier too (though you're very pretty, I must say) and of course he's all oh fairest of the fair darling of my heart yadda yadda yadda and I go oh please get _over_ it 'cause you know, he's always so rude like that and it's harassment and I _don't_ have to take it, you know?"

But Legolas did not know, nor was he able to offer more than the vaguest mumbled reply. This was all the same to Enóreth, as the interaction of her listening audience had long since fallen to a low slot on her list of concerns. "So anyway," she continued, "I'm all like _yah_ , what's _up_ with that, it is like _so obvious_ that I'm totally better than everyone else and like, have you ever noticed that when you're the best at something and also just _happen_ to be the prettiest, even if you're still totally nice and sweet to everybody there are like a bunch of jerks who get like _so_ jealous and call you a 'worthless character' whatever _that_ means and – Oh! Flowers! Let's go pick some!"

But at this Legolas was adamant. Stopping to be contemplative on a hilltop was one thing, but stopping to pick flowers was quite another, and he told her so.

"But see how fair they are!" she exclaimed. "I could make the loveliestwreath of them, and you could wear it as a token of my appreciation! Oh come, Leggy, please?"

"Out of the question," he said curtly. "We have much distance to cover before nightfall, and these woods are far too dangerous to – _what_ did you just call me?"

A decided pout creased Enóreth's fair and lovely brow. "Aw, you're no fun at all!" she said.

Legolas took a few steadying breaths and replied, "I did not accompany you for amusement, O Lady of the Waning Moon...."

"That's Crescent Moon," said Enóreth.

"All _right!_ " Legolas snapped. "You may call yourself Queen Melian of the Blessed Realm for all I care! But I have not the time for such foolishness!"

Enóreth sniffed. "There's no need to be rude," she said. "You know, you'd probably have a lot more luck with romance if you weren't so cross all the time."

The retort that sprang to his lips was hasty and not terribly polite, so he forced it back and took a moment to calm himself. "Will you please," he said slowly, " _please_ allow us to continue on until nightfall? We cannot linger along the trail in such a way and hope to succeed in our task."

She crossed her arms and frowned. "Fine," she said. " _Be_ that way. Come on then, 'Leggy.'" With that, she flounced off down the trail. She gave him a most disrespectful swat on the backside as she went past, and to the end of the Story she would never realise just how close she came to getting beat about the head for it. But Legolas was a disciplined and noble Prince of Mirkwood, and he managed to regain his control in the nick of time. Setting his teeth, he strode ahead of her and hurried them along at a rapid pace that he refused to slacken for many hours.

The long shadows of evening were creeping through the forest when they stopped to rest. Enóreth skipped away from the path humming to herself, and for a time Legolas was alone. He wandered through the trees in a daze. The journey had barely started and already it seemed that he could not endure it much longer. Truth be told, he was beginning to wonder if he would ever make it to the end, or if he would still be in his right mind even if he did. So depressed and distracted was he by such thoughts, he did not notice the racoon approaching until it crawled onto a tree stump just ahead, sat up, and started speaking to him:

"Say Legolas, I've been noticing that you WHOA, DON'T SHOOT ME!" The racoon dove behind the stump and poked his head back out. " _Easy_ there, Elf Boy!"

"Sorry!" Legolas gasped. He lowered his bow and passed a hand over his eyes. "I am sorry. I just ... I did not mean...."

"No, that's all right," said the racoon, regaining his composure. He climbed onto the stump again and shook his fur. "It's been a rough day, I hear ya, buddy. Just watch where you point that thing, okay?"

Exhausted and now quite shaken, Legolas leaned heavily against a tree and made an effort to steady himself. "You..." he said weakly, "you are a Guide...?"

"Yep, that's me," said the racoon. "Yeesh, you look terrible! Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?"

Legolas shook his head.

"Suit yourself," the Guide said. "Anyway, as I was saying. I couldn't help but notice that you're really charging full speed ahead with this thing. It's instinctive, I know, but take it from me – _really_ bad idea. Bring it down a few pegs. Relax."

"No, I dare not," Legolas muttered dimly. "I must end it ... the Story. Finrond...."

"Listen to you! You're doing it again," the Guide insisted. "You're pushing way too hard. The point of this journey isn't to find Finrond."

Legolas did a double take. "It's not!" he exclaimed.

The racoon shrugged. "You'd think so, but it really isn't. The point, my friend, is to give you two lovebirds enough time alone for the usual Romance Story trademarks to occur. Songs under the moonlight, comforting the maiden in her distress, watching each other sleep, blah blah, you get the picture. There are a specific number of these plot points for the Story, and after they've all been carried out the bad guy will show up. Not before. You see what I'm saying?"

"I believe so," said Legolas slowly.

"So basically you've got two options," the racoon continued. "Either go head-to-head with this and get dragged through it kicking and screaming, or co-operate and get it over with as fast as you can. I'd take the second route, personally. If you keep fighting the plot you'll be stuck in the Story for weeks, and no offence, but you don't look like you'd last that long."

This seemed like grim news indeed. Legolas held his head in his hands and groaned, "I am helpless, then! Must I endure every humiliation cast my way?"

"Wellll, I wouldn't say that," said the racoon. "There are ways to satisfy the Story without sacrificing your self-respect. It's all a matter of anticipating things, bending the rules, feeling out a rhythm ... I can't explain it. It's one of those things you'll have to work out for yourself."

Some remaining alertness in Legolas realised that the Guide was trying to give him a hint, but in his current state the Elf could no more discern its meaning than sprout wings and fly. "I do not understand," he said hopelessly. "I cannot, not now. Everything...." His voice dwindled away.

The racoon gazed at him with wry understanding. "Yeah. Everything. I know," he said. "Look, this is a tough Story and we Guides have been feeling bad for you, so a bunch of us have banded together to keep her busy until sunrise. The chipmunks and baby rabbits are going to get more cuddles than what's good for them by the time the night is over, but it's a price we're willing to pay."

"Thank you," murmured Legolas. His weariness had redoubled and he felt he could barely stay upright.

The racoon smiled and waved it off. "Hey, not a problem. You get some rest and clear your head, all right? And don't worry. All Stories have to end sooner or later."

Legolas nodded faintly. The racoon hopped off the stump and scampered into the bushes; at last Legolas was left in peace. Somehow he managed to walk a few paces to a sheltered spot not far from the stream, where the singing water and the mingled scent of earth and trees could lull his senses. Sinking down onto the moss, he stretched himself out and passed into a forgetful slumber. 

* * *

**Coming Up:** Legolas tries an experiment. Enóreth joins PETA.


	6. An Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Legolas get through this twisted fairy tale without losing his sanity?

Early the next morning Legolas awoke to sunlight gleaming silver-gold and green through the leaves overhead. He rose with a new resolve, for the crisp air and a good night's rest had done much to revive his spirits. While preparing for the day's journey he gave much thought to the racoon's advice, and a measure of his confidence returned. After all, if cunning and intelligence were useful in such Stories, surely elvish wisdom and three thousand years of experience were in his favour. By the time he set out in search of Enóreth, he had decided to try a small experiment.

He found her curled up in the shelter of a birch grove some fifty yards from the stream. Her face was flushed with sleep and she held a rabbit in her arms. The tableau would have almost been cute if the poor rabbit had not been close to suffocating. Legolas knelt beside Enóreth and prised her arms loose. The rabbit bounded off, doubtless to tell the chilling tale of its captivity to whomever would listen.

"Huh? Wha?" yawned Enóreth, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "Is it morning already?"

"It is," said Legolas. "We should be leaving soon."

Enóreth sighed, got to her feet, and stretched lazily. Then she glanced down at herself and gasped in dismay. "Oh, look at me!" she cried. "I'm such a mess! Legolas, do wait for a moment, won't you? I simply _must_ go down to the stream and bathe. Do you want to come? No? Ah well, I can go alone. Such is my lot in life, after all: to be alone. So ... very ... alone...." She became distracted and started murmuring to herself. "You know, this dress could do with a good airing. All my dresses could, actually. And when was the last time I gave my hair its daily one hundred brush strokes? Sloppy, Enóreth, very sloppy...."

It was enough to strike dismay into the stoutest heart, but Legolas held firm. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. Then he gave her the warmest smile he could muster. "Please do not be long," he said. "I worry when you are away."

The reaction to this tiny show of affection was immediate. Enóreth's face all but lit up in her delight. "Oh, you dear thing!" she cried, and prancing forward she kissed him on the cheek. "It's just like you to be so concerned about me! You wait here – I won't be half a minute." And off she went.

On the whole, the experiment worked like a charm. Enóreth got herself ready with remarkable speed and they were on the trail within a quarter hour. As Legolas had suspected, the landscape responded to her cheerful mood with warm breezes and sunlit glades, and for a long stretch the going was quite smooth. Encouraged, he made it a point to walk with her and engage her in conversation. Their pace could not have been less efficient and her incessant prattling nearly bored him senseless, but as the day progressed he noted that the cliffs were drawing much nearer. By noon the meandering walk had covered a greater distance than all of the previous day's marching, and by sunset the craggy ridge loomed so close that Legolas could make out the contours of its face in the red light.

Several days passed in this fashion. (Legolas had a hard time keeping track of them and eventually stopped counting.) He was careful to keep Enóreth happy with smiles and sweet words, and in return the journey – and the Story – moved forward at an acceptable speed. Things became easier still when Legolas discovered and perfected the skill of tuning out much of her chatter, tossing out the occasional "I see" or "Really!" at appropriate intervals. There were still a few rough spots to manage (he was trapped into giving her a back rub at one point) but he took them in stride and completed his tasks with grim determination. Thus the daylight hours slipped away, and when the nights fell and Enóreth was lulled to sleep Legolas had a precious while of peace and silence.

One afternoon as Legolas scouted ahead, he startled up a young buck that was grazing in a clearing. For a moment he stayed his hand, wondering if the creature was a Guide. But when the deer sprang away with no intention of stopping to chat, Legolas set an arrow to the string and aimed a shot that would drop the animal quickly.

And so it would have, if Enóreth had not leapt into the way.

It was well for her that Legolas possessed elvish reflexes; any lesser being would not have been able to divert the shot in time. At the last possible moment he cursed and jerked his bow to one side. The arrow went spiralling off into the depths of a thicket and vanished.

"Ai _Valar,_ woman!" he cried, waving his arms in the air. "What are you _doing_?!"

Enóreth stood before him with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Legolas! How could you be so heartless! Shooting at a poor defenceless deer like that!"

At first Legolas could not find the right words. "Surely you are joking!" he sputtered at last. "I was hunting! You tell me we are forbidden to hunt now?!"

"And why do we need to kill things for food, I'd like to know!" she retorted. "We have plenty of bread and dried fruit with us!"

"This is absurd!" said Legolas. "We have been living on that stuff for days!" Then Enóreth's lip began to tremble, and he hastily added, "Not that it isn't good, hearty fare. I spoke too quickly. Forgive me, I did not know how you felt. I promise you I will ... oh, don't _cry_.... _"_

But nothing he could say would appease her. Enóreth turned away and wandered off, sobbing loudly and leaving a very frustrated Elf behind her. For a time he stood there, gazing with sullen envy to where the buck had bounded away on light feet, far away into the forest where it could roam safe and free. Then he shouldered his bow, bent his head against the chilling wind and rain that had blown in out of nowhere, and trudged after her. 

For the rest of the evening theirs was a long and mournful journey. Enóreth was silent and moody, and Legolas was in low spirits himself and of no inclination to cheer her up. Thus the sky became glum and overcast and the wind howled through the trees. Things were not much better when it came time to camp. The only spot that offered itself was a drab little clearing ringed all about with brambles. Even if it had not been too damp to kindle a flame, the warmth and pleasant glow of a fire would have ruined the mood and so Enóreth would not hear of it. Nonetheless, the clearing was better than nothing. They stopped there to wait out the night. Then for several hours Legolas lurked in the shadows and kept his distance while Enóreth stood in the centre of the clearing, moaning and sighing and striking melodramatic poses with her hair streaming in the wind. Finally, with her usual fussing and a sad song or two, she wrapped herself in her cloak and lay down to sleep.

It was some time further before Legolas was certain she would not wake until morning. He rose from the brambles and silently crossed to the edge of the clearing where an oak tree spread its great branches tall and wide. In one leap he caught the lowest bough and swung himself up. He climbed as high as the tree would bear him with an ease that only the Silvan Elves could master, and from his perch he gazed out over the tangled canopy of the forest.

The world still looked dark and brooding, but now that Enóreth slept a strong gale was tattering the clouds and blowing them away. Up here the air was not so heavy and the wind was soothing against his brow. As the sky cleared he could see the stars burning brightly, and they comforted him, for these the Story had no power to change or control. He traced their constellations to the Southeast where the distant shadow lurked, then further South toward the plains where Aragorn and Gimli – and he himself, in a sense – waited for the coming of dawn. Legolas' heart burned, for though time in Middle-earth stood still his own resolve and concerns did not. He had pledged his life to the Quest, and a very grim vow it was; but now he wished (not for the first time!) that the Story would end and release him to fulfil that vow.

Still, there was little he could do about it. Settling himself against the gnarled branches, he fastened his gaze on Eärendil's shining light and let his mind drift away to the brief respite of elvish dreams.

* * *

**Coming Up:** Enóreth gets mushy. Legolas gets a serious headache.


	7. Romance and Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Legolas get through this twisted fairy tale without losing his sanity?

Time passed, and all the world became shrouded in a soft mist. Light seemed to reach for him in the stillness, setting the air aglow in colours of sapphire and pearl, and the arms of the wind bore him forward across a shining sea. Soon the mist rolled away to reveal the forms of two great Trees. One gleamed with silver, for each of its many blooms gave forth a light only dimly remembered in the light of the Moon. The other held clusters of flowers that overflowed with warmth and brilliance greater than fire. Dew fell as nourishing rain from their branches, the glory of gold and silver mingling gently in the air of an enchanted twilight....

All of which faded from Legolas' sight in the blink of an eye. He drew in a breath, sat up straight, and dropped back grumbling to himself. Something had disturbed his sleep while the dark of night yet covered the world, and waking from such a vision to be greeted by chilly air and watery stars was depressing. He looked about and discovered a great horned owl sitting on a branch nearby, staring at him with eyes as round as saucers.

"What now?" said Legolas.

The owl ruffled his feathers. "Well, to start with, you're sitting in my spot."

Legolas muttered an apology and moved one branch over. The owl hopped across and settled himself into the nook with a satisfied grunt.

"Thanks for keeping it warm, anyhow," he said. "On your toes, Master Elf. Moon Lady is having a nightmare."

Legolas looked below. Sure enough, Enóreth lay tossing and whimpering in the tangled folds of her cloak. From her face she seemed haunted by horrifying visions, though not horrifying enough to spoil the picturesque qualities of tumbled hair and heaving bosom.

"You'd better go down there and wake her up," said the Guide. "Just a guess, but I think she'll be needing a hug."

"It is only a dream," Legolas replied stubbornly. "She will wake of her own accord soon enough."

"Oh you think so, do you?" said the owl with a sly smile (as much as owls can smile). "See here mate, it's quite up to you whether you go down there or not. But if you don't, not only will she pitch and moan indefinitely but the sun will put off rising too. And then I'll get irate because I've had a busy night and it's past my bedtime, and then you'llbe stuck up a tree in perpetual four-thirty-in-the-morning with a grumpy owl. I don't know about you, but I can certainly think of things I'd rather be doing."

Legolas could hardly argue with that. With a final glower in the Guide's direction he swung down through the branches and dropped to Enóreth's side, and it must be confessed he was none too gentle in waking her up.

"Oh, Legolas!" Enóreth sobbed when her gaze fell upon him. "Thank heaven it's you! I thought Finrond had captured me, and...."

"There there," said Legolas, trying to be soothing. "It was a dream, nothing more. I will take watch and keep you safe. Go back to sleep."

She shivered. "I dare not!" she said. "Not with such ghastly visions to haunt me! Woe, woe is me," and she covered her face daintily with her hands, "I am so afraid!"

"Understandable!" he replied. "Clearly you want time in solitude to recover from such a fright. I'll just go for a walk and—"

"Nooo!" she wailed, clinging to his ankle. "Don't leave me here all alone!"

"All right, all right, I won't," said Legolas grumpily, hopping about on one foot and trying to shake her off. It was hardly a graceful manoeuvre, but _you_ try maintaining your dignity with a grown woman wrapped around your leg. "I said, I won't! Unhand me, would you?"

She let go reluctantly and sniffled, gazing at him with her huge blue eyes. "Won't you just hold me for a bit? Please?" 

He restrained a frown, but he really should have known that it would come to this in the end. "Very well," he said with a sigh, and sat down beside her. He opened his arms a little stiffly, hoping to keep some sort of distance. 

Of course, Enóreth would have none of that. She flung herself against him and hugged him so tightly that he gasped for breath, and it did not seem that she intended to let go any time soon either. Resigned that he would have to wait this out until sunrise, he shifted her weight against his shoulder and gave her head an awkward pat. Each strand of her hair was like a thread of finest silk and therefore had the maddening tendency to cling to his fingers. 

"Oh! That's better," she said after a time. She gave him a squeeze and nuzzled against his neck. "What a horrible dream it was! Trapped by a relentless evil creature with no soul! Can anyone comprehend such torment?"

"I have some idea," wheezed Legolas.

Enóreth beamed at him. "Oh, of _course_ you'd understand. You're such a darling compassionate person. That is my comfort, you know. If I must endure all the cruelty of Finrond's evil power, at least I have you here to endure it with me!"

Legolas managed some muffled noise in response. Silence fell. The grey veil of dawn began to creep into the eastern sky, bringing with it a measure of hope. Perhaps when the first birds broke into song Enóreth would be in the mood to wander off and join them.

Right when it seemed that she was loosening her hold on him, she cuddled closer (if that were possible) and gazed intently into his eyes. "Legolas?" said she.

"Yes?" he replied with some trepidation. He really did not like the way she was toying with the fastenings of his tunic.

"If I asked something of you, something very special, would you do it for me?"

He swallowed, not sure how to respond. He certainly did not want to consent, but how much worse would it be if he tried to refuse and goaded the Forces of the Story to seize him? Fortunately, Enóreth released him and sat up before he had to decide.

"Here," she said, and removed a necklace that she had worn beneath her cloak. She placed the heavy pendant and chain into his hand and closed his fingers around it. "I want you to have this."

Legolas held it up in the dim light. The pendant was a shining blue jewel (fifty-six carats, to be exact) shaped into a heart and set in diamonds, hung on a diamond-studded chain and fastened with an ornate clasp. He gazed at it in thinly disguised astonishment. Surely not even this Story would demand that he wearsuch a tacky thing!

"Well," he said blankly. "I ... thank you."

Enóreth pressed his hand fervently. "It is of great worth," she said, "and very dear to me. This I give to you, Legolas, with all my heart! For no one else would I trust so ... or love so...." Overcome with emotion, she turned her face away.

With the scant regard he had for this maiden, Legolas could only be embarrassed. Nevertheless he forced a smile and accepted her gift with as much gratitude as he could summon. He handled the necklace gingerly, unsure of what to do with it. In the end he tucked it out of sight in the cuff of his boot. ("So that I will not lose or damage it, dear Lady," he explained.)

At last the morning came. Enóreth decided to take a walk – as well she might, for her display of affection had transformed the wood into a lovely place, full of alluring hollows and dancing sunbeams. But even as the romantic mood sought to beguile him, Legolas was filled with an urgency that surpassed all other concerns. Against the morning light a great wall of rock rose up not half a mile away – at long last they had reached the cliffs! And there was the dim roar of the river in the distance! If this was indeed the land of the evil wizard, was not the Story's end drawing nigh?

For the first time in many days Legolas was filled with a dizzying hope, and he struggled to keep his composure lest he be disappointed once again. Leaving Enóreth to her own devices, he slipped away and explored the surrounding land to the fullest measure of his senses. If evil things lurked here they were excellently concealed, for Legolas could find no trace of them. Soon he was obliged to abandon his search. It was evident that the Story would not be rushed, and out of duty he would not leave Enóreth unguarded for very long. He returned to the clearing and spotted her standing in the sunlight several paces off, gathering lilies and wild roses for a garland to place in her hair. Engrossed in her work, she did not yet see him.

"Flowers again," he muttered. "Ai, she will be the death of me yet."

Legolas would quickly learn to regret that statement. Barely had the words left his lips when the Forces of the Story fell upon him stronger than ever and held him fast. At the same moment a bitter chill seized him, and he heard the sound that his heart had secretly been dreading from the moment he and Enóreth had come to this place: the rustling and growling of many loathsome creatures creeping toward them. 

"Orcs!" he endeavoured to call. "On your guard, Enóreth!" But the cry froze in his throat and died away; he could make no sound to her, nor could he move. He could only stand there staring vacantly as she arranged her flowers, quite oblivious to the approaching danger.

It did not take him long to figure out what was happening, and the realisation filled him with an outrage greater than any he had ever known. He made a futile effort to subdue his will and do as he was told, but it was no use. The idea that he would be too enthralled by Enóreth's beauty to notice a troop of orcs crashing through the underbrush simply could not be endured. Furiously he struggled to master himself, but the harder he fought the more the Story gripped him. His ears told him that the foremost of the goblins were now only a stone's throw away.

"Curse this wretched tale!" he thought. "Is my life to end with such indignity?" And it certainly looked that way. Inexorably he was held, his hand trembling to reach for his bow, and still the orcs drew closer. Legolas heard the sound of cruel blades being drawn. At any moment one of those blades would be plunged into his back, and he could do nothing. 

Just when it seemed that all was lost, Enóreth noticed something amiss and looked up. Her mouth dropped open and her bouquet scattered from her fingers. "Legolas!" she cried. " _Behind you!_ " __

He did not have time to dwell on the irony of her warning. In the blink of an eye she grabbed her own bow and fired a shot. Not two steps behind Legolas, an orc went down with a squawk. At the same stroke Legolas felt himself released. He lurched forward and whirled at last to face his attackers. 

Enóreth ran to stand beside him. "To me! To me!" she shouted, drawing her sword and waving it about. "Now for the destruction of my home and family and the brutal slaying of my dearest foster-father the Wood Elf King, you shall die, you filth!"

The orcs gazed at her a little befuddled. Then they shrugged and plunged into the fray. Enóreth leapt into battle shrieking like a wildcat. Her stance was terrible and she wielded her sword quite ineptly, and yet at every moment another orc was chopped into mincemeat. (Perhaps this was aided by the orcs being compelled to fling themselves at her one at a time, rather than attacking all at once in sensible fashion.) 

For Legolas, things were going much worse. Beside the fact that Enóreth nearly lopped his head off in her enthusiasm, he found that the Forces were not yet finished with him. A leaden stiffness was in his limbs and his once-nimble fingers felt thick and clumsy as they handled the bow. Many of his arrows glanced harmlessly aside or even missed entirely. Enóreth was far outshining him, and as the battle progressed Legolas realised that this was exactly the point.

And then, because the situation was not quite infuriating enough, Enóreth was gripped by a sudden woozy spell. 

"Ohhh...." she moaned, going pale. She lifted one white hand to her brow. "Oh no! He has seen us – he calls to me! Help! Legolas, help me!"

Being up to his pointed ears in stinking slobbering orc, Legolas could only stare at her in open-mouthed disbelief. She stumbled and dropped her sword. "Can you not hear it?" she wailed. "The evil - the torment! Make ... it ... stop!"

"What in the world do you expect _me_ to do about it?!" he exclaimed, parrying an attack as best he could. "Enóreth...!"

But his efforts were in vain. With a shuddering breath she slid to the ground and lay in a swoon at his feet. The orcs leapt and gibbered in triumph. The Lady of the Crescent Moon was struck down, and all would come to darkness and despair!

Their victory, however, would be a costly one. Enóreth was out of the fight; there was no longer need to hold the Elf in check. The very moment the orcs swarmed forward to claim their prize Legolas felt his strength return. Wrath blazed in his heart and flashed so fiercely in his eyes that his enemies were filled with dismay. Faster than sight his remaining arrows flew – five orcs were dead before they hit the ground. And before the fifth shot had found its mark, Legolas was brandishing his knife with savage speed. Seven more lay writhing in the dirt. 

Yet for all his valour he knew it was hopeless. He was surrounded, and for every orc he cut down there were three to take its place. Soon he was held at bay. Defiantly he stood within their tightening circle. The largest of them, a great loathsome brute, went into a frenzy and sprang for his throat. Bright steel flashed, dark blood poured out upon the trampled ground, and the goblin was slashed in two – but Legolas' mightiest blow was also his last. In an instant they were upon him, and he was dragged to his knees. As he fell struggling beneath them, an orc raised its cudgel and brought it smashing down against the back of his head. He heard and saw no more.

* * *

**Coming Up:** Bondage fun with Legolas. There, are you happy now? Geez, people.


	8. Bondage and Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Legolas get through this twisted fairy tale without losing his sanity?

When Legolas awoke, the first thing he knew was that his head ached horribly. Then he became aware of being cold and uncomfortable, kneeling on a very hard floor in a dark room, tied upright against a stone pillar with his hands and feet bound behind him. And when he discovered that whoever had tied him up had also found it necessary to undo his collar and loosen his hair, he slumped in his bonds and moaned. Alas, Legolas had fallen into the clutches of a Hero In Bondage Scene.

Had he known how narrowly he had escaped a Gratuitous Humiliation And Torture Scene, he may have looked upon his current plight more favourably. As it was, he felt the Story had fallen to irredeemable depths. Dismally he examined the confines of his prison. By the damp walls and the artfully-placed skulls on the floor, this seemed to be the dungeon of a fortress. And huddled in a corner, unbound, hugging herself and weeping miserably, was Enóreth.

Several questions sprang to his mind as he saw her – how long had they been here, and was she hurt, and why for pity's sake had she not untied him – but he gave no voice to them. If the Forces wished him to know such things they would tell him; and if they did not, asking questions was a pointless exercise. In any case, Enóreth was so hysterical that Legolas doubted she would be of much help. As far as he could guess, this was the fortress of Finrond the Purple. The orcs, then, had been his army. The wizard must have ordered his victims taken alive to suffer by his own hands. Briefly Legolas wondered if this had anything to do with his tunic being unbuttoned, and then he decided that it was best not to think of such things.

There was precious little time to think at all, as it turned out. The scrabble of orc feet sounded in the outer passage. The heavy door swung open, and two of the creatures slunk into the room. They stood aside at exaggerated attention, and in walked a man who could have only been Finrond himself. 

He was tall and gaunt, clothed in ragged purple robes and carrying a cruelly pointed ebony staff. His grey hair and beard were a mass of dirty tangles, and his black eyes glowered from beneath the perpetual scowl of his forehead. As he walked into the dank chamber his footsteps pounded against the floor, for he wore heavy boots and stomped about to give himself an imposing entrance. Altogether, Finrond the Purple wore a look of such obvious and hackneyed malevolence that the idea of him deceiving anybody with his treachery became more incredible with each passing moment. Enóreth whimpered and trembled at the sight of him.

Now he turned that horrid gaze upon her, and conceited delight filled every fibre of his twisted frame. "Ha!" he gloated. "So we meet again, witch! Think you can escape my clutches, do you? Try to thwart the horrible horrible fate that has been laid upon you by my evil genius, will you? Well this should teach you a lesson, you stupid girl! No creature of Middle-earth can defeat me! Ah, and what have we here!" he exclaimed as he espied Legolas. "A Silvan prince from the halls of Mirkwood bound to his doom within my dungeon! Never again shall you see the trees and starlight of which you Elves are so enamoured! How wonderfully despicable! I laugh at you in your misery!" And laugh he did, flinging back his head and producing a veritable "BWAH-HAHHH-HAHAHAHAAAA!" if ever there was one.

"Ilúvatar deliver us!" cried Enóreth.

"I do not believe this," groaned the Silvan prince.

The wizard rubbed his hands together. "Now shall you know torment!" he cackled. "Enóreth, my slave, you will serve me well! Guards! Bring her forth to my lair! The time has come for my curse to be fulfilled! Then soon the Fellowship will be destroyed!! The Ring is as good as mine!!!" With this decree, and clawing the air at each exclamation mark, Finrond strode from the room. Again did Enóreth beseech heavenly aid, but the Valar seemed to turn deaf ears to her plea. The orcs came forward and caught her by the arms, and the maiden – the same maiden who only in the previous Chapter had slain thirty orcs in two minutes with one hand – began to sob and flail about like a little girl. 

Legolas raised his head, and mustering all his power he strove to call to her, "Fight them, you idiot, fight them off!" But to his dismay, the only thing he could force past his lips was "Enóreth! Enóreth!" in a bleating fashion. And Enóreth responded in kind with "Legolas! Legolas!" so that in the end the spectacle was quite embarrassing. Struggling pathetically she was dragged away, the door slammed to behind her, and she was gone. 

If things had been dreary for Legolas before, they were simply insufferable now. Early on he tried to free himself, but his struggles dwindled and ceased as the hours slipped away. Calling for help was useless; escape was impossible. He was trapped, utterly powerless, and the Story was quite capable of dragging on for weeks before he was released. The thought weighed on his spirit until it seemed he would go mad with frustration. 

By nightfall a storm raged about the fortress, giving the proper sense of doom to the Scene. Lightning flashed beyond the tiny window; the answering thunder mingled with the howl of the wind; water dripped from the ceiling in a far corner; rats scurried along the walls. On the whole it was quite as gloomy and ominous a setting as you could wish for, and such a stifling mood would overcome the strongest character. Legolas hung limply against the ropes that bound him. His head was bowed to his breast and his eyes were closed.

But the stillness had not long to remain. Soon one of the rats quit her scurrying and crept with curiosity toward the Elf. After peering into his face from a few feet away she seemed satisfied. "That's him, all right," she said to herself. "What a dish! My, but I love my job. Helloooo! You up there! This is your Guide speaking!"

Legolas did not move. The rat waited for a moment and cocked her head. "Hrm," she said. She scampered up to him and pawed at his knee. "Yoohoo! Legolas! Rise and shine, Cutie Pie!"

Still there was no answer. The Guide was rather perplexed. She began to mull things over aloud. "How odd! They didn't send me to one of those Angst Stories by mistake, did they? Say, I wonder if he's ticklish...."

"All right! All right. I am awake," said Legolas wearily. "Now what do you want?"

"Goodness, it took you long enough!" she replied. "What, do you want to hang around here all evening? We're just getting to the exciting part! It's time for you to escape!"

Of what "excitement" was in store for him, Legolas was reluctant to think. But escaping from the dungeon was something at least. He did his best to be attentive, if not overjoyed, at the news. "I am ready," he said. "Tell me what I am to do."

"Okay then," said the rat briskly. "Do you have Enóreth's necklace handy?"

Legolas was startled. In all the turmoil of his capture and imprisonment he had forgotten the necklace completely. Now he crouched down, and stretching his fingers he managed to reach into his boot and catch hold of the diamond chain. The pendant slid free and dangled from his hands.

"It is a magical amulet, you see," said the Guide. "The Wood Elf King gave it to Enóreth when she came of age. It has great power, full of Heavenly Fire and Dazzling Holy Light and all that sort of stuff. It's strong enough to break any spell in the right hands, which is why Enóreth gave it to you for safekeeping."

"Wait – wait. If...." Legolas had to pause a moment. His head was starting to swim. "You mean to say that Enóreth had it all this time and knew of its power, but she never thought to use it against Finrond in the first place?"

It was a valid and honest criticism, but like many that surround such Stories it was shrugged aside in this astounding fashion: "Well, aren't we picky. If she'd done that there wouldn't be a Story, now would there?" Then the rat added cheerfully, "Anyway, it's yours now, so _you_ get to do the magic thing! Fun, huh?"

"I ... the ... magic thing?" he stammered.

"That's right! Within that jewel lies the power to defeat Finrond, break Enóreth's curse, and live happily ever after. All you have to do is unlock it."

"What do you mean? Unlock it with what?"

"Why, True Love, of course. What else would you unlock it with?"

Legolas was aghast. "True Love!" he cried. "For Enóreth!" 

The rat frolicked happily. "I know! Isn't it just delicious?"

But Legolas could not reply. To the last of his strength he had been patient, but this...! It was too much; he could bear it no longer. Every absurdity, every insult to sense and dignity that he had been forced to endure over the passing Chapters rose up before him until his thoughts reeled. Overwhelmed, he dropped his head back against the pillar and closed his eyes. 

Then, to his own astonishment, he started to laugh. 

This was not the reaction the Guide had been expecting. She sat back on her haunches. "What are you laughing for?" she said. "This is a desperate situation! Your darling Enóreth is under the spell of the Great and Powerful Finrond the Purple!"

Well, that only made it worse. Such peals of merriment had not been heard in this dark place for many years. (Or at least since Finrond had left the room, though one could argue that his laughter was less merriment and more diabolical glee.)

"This isn't funny!" exclaimed the rat, getting agitated. "She _needs_ you!"

"Yes, yes, of course she does!" said Legolas gaily. "Oh, my..." and at that point he was no longer able to speak.

After a good while of this, the Guide's patience ran thin. She stamped her paw on the floor. "So help me, I _will_ leave you tied up here for another hour if you don't stop it," she said.

"I beg your pardon!" he gasped. It took a moment, but he steadied his breathing and blinked the tears from his eyes. "Go on. Please. I am listening."

"Hmph," said the rat. "That's better. Anyway, as I said: the necklace is the key. The Author wasn't too specific on exactly how it works, but you can probably assume it'll involve some starry-eyed pure-hearted warm-fuzzy-feeling type of spiritual outpouring. Do you think you can do that?"

Legolas smiled. His giddiness had faded, but it was replaced with a wry amusement that could not be subdued. Suddenly the Story and all its pretensions seemed as harmless as a spoiled child. "Indeed, with such inspiration as Enóreth how could I not!" he said. "And what would the Forces have me do with this power? Shall I tear down the fortress stone by stone with naught but the strength of my love?"

"No, no," the rat replied sceptically, "nothing that elaborate. All you have to do to reach the next Chapter is use the necklace to escape the dungeon."

Perhaps Legolas' reviving humour gave him insight, or perhaps a Maia passing near at that moment took pity on him and blessed him with clarity. In any event the spark of an idea came to life in his mind. He straightened and looked at the Guide with sudden interest. "It says nothing else?" he demanded. "Those are the exact words?"

"I'm pretty sure," she said, and pulled the manuscript of the Story from her pocket. (The rat had a pocket, you see.) "Yes, yes, that's just what it says. 'Legolas used the necklace to escape.' Well okay, to be perfectly honest it says 'ecscape,' but spelling errors aside it's obvious you—"

She got no further. Legolas swung the pendant on its chain and slammed it against the pillar with all his might. The jewel shattered into several pieces.

"What are you _doing_!" the rat shrieked. "You have to use the necklace! The Story says so!"

Legolas did not answer. He drew up the chain and closed his hand around the broken pendant. The edges of the fragment were knife sharp. Working quickly, he turned it over in his fingers and began cutting the cords binding his wrists.

The rat stared at him with her mouth hanging open. Then she glowered in supreme annoyance. "Oh, now that's cheating!"

In a moment or two Legolas' hands were free, and after that he made short work of the ropes binding his shoulders and legs. He sprang to his feet and ran for the door.

"Stop it!" said the rat indignantly. "I'm filing a complaint! No fair!"

Legolas grinned over his shoulder as he left. "I thank you for your assistance," he said.

The rat huffed, then hollered after him: "And don't think you're not paying for that either!"

* * *

**Coming Up:** Enóreth gets her evil on. Legolas is forced to take desperate measures.


	9. Desperate Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Legolas get through this twisted fairy tale without losing his sanity?

Legolas had escaped the dungeon and so had achieved the next Chapter. But his difficulties had only just begun, for he was on his own and did not know the way. The twisting corridors and narrow staircases all looked the same, and they were as dank and unpleasant as the dungeon itself. The only differences were the torches set in random alcoves, sputtering and throwing crazy shadows all about. Legolas chose a corridor that seemed to lead upward and inward, and broke into a run. An echoing silence filled every corner of the passage; it seemed he was completely alone in the place. 

But the fortress was not empty, as he was soon to discover. Rounding a corner, he found himself waist-to-nose with an orc. 

Legolas stood at ready. The threat was not to be taken lightly; the orc wielded a cruel scimitar and was of a shrewd and dangerous breed. But unarmed though he was, Legolas proved to be too much of a terror for one orc to handle. It scrambled away, digging its claws into the floor, and sprang in the other direction to go for help.

Legolas thought quickly. An orc discovering him moments after he escaped the dungeon could hardly be a coincidence. Indeed, it seemed just the kind of foreseeable plot twist so often employed by such a Story. No doubt Legolas was meant to use the necklace to overcome it.

What sufficed in one situation would suffice in another. He drew the chain taut between his hands, caught the orc by the neck, and throttled the creature to death. Then he caught up its weapon and moved on. If not appeased, the Story was stunned into silence. By the letter of the law Legolas had done nothing wrong.

The passage went up a stairway, which ended in a cavernous atrium at the centre of the fortress. From this room a half-dozen doors opened in all directions. Legolas examined each of them and found them to be unlocked. One would lead him to Finrond; the others meant further delay. He hesitated. Would he rely on luck a little while longer, or would he wait to see if the Story would send him guidance?

Suddenly his senses tingled, and he sprang back a step. An arrow whistled by and struck the wall within an inch of his face. Clutching the necklace in one hand and the scimitar in the other, Legolas turned to meet his attacker.

It was Enóreth. And her evil side had been brought forth, if the skin-tight black leather garments she wore were any indication.

"You!" she snarled.

"Oh bother," Legolas muttered. 

Enóreth bent her bow again, and only by his agility did he save himself from certain death. By reflex he gathered himself to spring, but he knew that fighting would be useless. Already he could sense the Forces closing in, ready to hinder his efforts the moment he raised a hand against her. He dropped the scimitar and darted aside to the shelter of a pillar. Arrows rattled around his hiding place like a hailstorm.

"Well I don't know _what_ to tell you, kiddo," came a hoarse voice from above. "It's not supposed to be going like this at all!"

Legolas looked up. There was a window high in the opposite wall, and perched on the sill was a kindly old crow, flapping her tattered wings in confusion.

"There has been a change in plans," said Legolas.

"I can see that!" the crow replied, dodging a wayward arrow. "Dear heaven, how you've complicated things!"

A piercing battle cry and a fresh attack from Enóreth made speech impossible for a moment. Legolas cast about for some way to fight or flee, but found nothing. "What must I do?" he asked the Guide. "Speak! Quickly!"

"I'm telling you I have no idea!" said the crow in dismay. "She was supposed to be released from her curse by the magic of the necklace. Now that you've broken it...." She trailed off into nervous fretting. "Oh, they must be _furious_ with you! Whatever shall we do if the Story never ends!"

"It will end," said Legolas firmly.

"How?!" the Guide wailed.

Legolas was beginning to feel worried and therefore rather impatient. "I will find a way," he hissed, "if you will just be quiet and let me think!" 

The crow obliged. But Legolas had only seconds to pull himself together, for Enóreth would not be thus ignored. "Come out!" she demanded. "Come out and face me, thou coward, so that I might pummel thee mercilessly!" And she started forward, determined to do battle with him if it took all evening. 

"Aie-yie," said the crow. "Legolas, whatever you're going to do you'd better do it now!" She spoke as a last despairing gesture, for in truth she was quite hopeless. Never before in her service as a Guide had a Story gone so far beyond her control.

But good fortune was with Legolas even yet. Right at the critical moment he made a risky but intelligent judgement: the Story was powerful, but it was not all-powerful. Though it favoured Enóreth in all things, there was also a good deal of admiration given to Legolas himself; for why else would he have been chosen for such a Story? Perhaps, if he could not resist the Forces, he could bend them to his will. 

Hiding the necklace in his tunic, Legolas closed his eyes. Calmness fell over him and an air of reverence tinted his voice as he spoke: "Enóreth? Enóreth, why are you doing this?"

This quiet, innocent question seemed to come as a shock to her. She halted and frowned, fearing some trick. "Do you still cower and hide like the dog you are?" she cried, taking aim. "Show yourself and surrender!" 

Even greater was her surprise when Legolas obeyed. Slowly he emerged from behind the pillar and stepped into plain sight – and what a sight he was! Gentle concern warmed the flawless contours of his face and his hair spilled long and loose over his shoulders. In response, the clouds outside rolled away and a beam of silver moonlight shone on him from the window. The effect was very pretty, and for a moment Enóreth hesitated. 

"Oh," Legolas breathed mournfully. "What has he done to you?"

Enóreth became confused. Her gaze moved from Legolas to the bow in her hands and back again. "I think," she said, "that I am supposed to shoot you. Yes, that must be it...."

" _Daro, melethril_ ," he said, and in his words lay all the beauty of every song he had ever sang beneath the stars. " _Renech nin, Brennil o Cúran? Tiro nin; lasto beth nin...._ Look at me; hear my voice. You know who I am – you are the only one who truly does."

"Oh, do you really mean that?" cried Enóreth, melting a little.

"Well well well," the crow remarked, pleasantly surprised. "Our boy's getting good!"

Legolas inched toward the maiden and put out his hand. A few more moments, a handful of steps, and she would be within his grasp. "The bond between us is greater than any curse," he murmured, watching her carefully. "Cast away the darkness and come to me! You would not wish me harm."

He was manipulative, and the Forces knew it. They struggled in every ebb and flow of their being to control themselves. But such poetic speech – and in the true elvish tongue, no less – was far too alluring to resist. Something seemed to yield to the romance of the moment. A drowsy smile spread over Enóreth's face and her bow drooped in her grasp. Legolas breathed a sigh of relief and reached to take the weapon away.

Too soon, too soon! the curse was yet in place! "No ... no!" Enóreth cried suddenly, shaking herself. "The Dark Warrior has love for no one!" 

Seeing his mistake, Legolas hastily withdrew his hand. But the damage was done; the sway of his voice had faltered. Enóreth's eyes grew cold. "You seek to entice me with your pathetic devotion!" she sneered. "Well, it won't work! Prepare to look upon the face of Pure Evil, you stupid nancing girlie-boy!"

At that moment Legolas could have shaken her until her teeth rattled in her head, but he restrained himself with a mighty effort. If Enóreth attacked him now he would be lost. Bewitching her was his only hope. "Wait!" he said. "My darling, listen to me!"

But she would not listen, and romantic words were no longer enough. She grabbed his arm in a death grip, and the Forces swooped in to squash his audacity once and for all. There was nothing for it. Steeling himself, Legolas wrenched his arm free, grabbed Enóreth by the shoulders, and kissed her square on the mouth.

This was far from pleasant for him; the kisses these Stories demanded were usually of the long messy variety. Nevertheless he held fast, determined to see it through. Finally, when he could not bear it a moment longer, he released her and stepped back. He was cringing in disgust, mortified, weary, and feeling slightly ill – but in the end, victorious. Enóreth stood before him as one struck senseless. For what seemed eternity she swayed, her lips moving soundlessly. Then she swooned and fell forward with a sigh, ready to be caught in his loving embrace.

Legolas sidestepped. She hit the floor with a thud.

"Legolas!" the crow scolded, though she could not quite keep the amusement from her voice. "You're supposed to catch her when she does that!"

"And be recaptured as I sit here and brood over her?" Legolas shot back, kneeling to bereave Enóreth of her weapons. "Forgive me, but I honestly do not have the time."

"Fair enough!" laughed the crow. "Well, that's one obstacle down. I suggest you hurry. Finrond is up next, and he won't be happy."

Springing to his feet, Legolas slung Enóreth's bow and quiver onto his back and slipped her knife into his belt. They were a bit small and hopelessly over-decorated, but they would do. "How do I find him?" he asked.

"That way," said the Guide, flapping in the direction of a doorway leading to a flight of stairs. "You were meant to have a few redundant orc battles and get heroically wounded along the way, but I daresay you'll be able to do as you please for a while after a kiss like _that_."

"Well, that is one benefit," said Legolas with a grimace. " _Peh._ I will be tasting honey for days!"

"Small price to pay, if you ask me." The crow spread her wings and flew to the window, cawing as she went. "Well done! Go now, and good luck to you!"

Legolas needed no further encouragement. With bounding strides he flew up the steps to a narrow wooden door and a long passageway. The staircase continued upward to other landings and other doors, but he paid them no mind. Something told him that it did not matter which door he chose as long as he headed in the right general direction, for the layout of Finrond's fortress had not been very thoroughly designed. And even if that had not been so, the distant rumble and fume of Finrond's lair pointed the way quite nicely. Swiftly he ran, his feet barely making a sound against the stones. His head was clear and the blood rushed strong through his veins. The end of the Story was near at hand if only he could master it, and Legolas had a plan. 

* * *

**Coming Up:** The conclusion, in which Legolas cracks open a big frosty can o' Whupass.


	10. The Final Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Legolas get through this twisted fairy tale without losing his sanity?

Legolas met no more obstacles along the way. More than ever the fortress seemed deserted. Whether they had fled or were simply forgotten about, the hundreds of orcs once at Finrond's command were gone. And for Legolas, that was perfectly all right. He had reached the Final Chapter. So long as the end was in sight, he would take his advantages and face his hardships and ask no questions about them.

The further Legolas went down the passageway, the more cautious he became. At every step the darkness grew heavier and the stillness more menacing. Soon he was moving carefully through a black tunnel filled with a haze of smoke. The dull red outline of a doorway appeared at the end. He crept to this doorway and listened. There was the crackle of a fire and something bubbling – otherwise, silence. Touching the hilt of his knife, he quickly stepped inside.

He found himself on a high narrow balcony that ran the length of the wall. From this vantage point he could look down on the entire chamber. The room was (small surprise) dimly lit. A worn red carpet covered the floor and bizarre pieces of furniture stood in the corners. In the centre of the floor there was a raised dais, and on this dais was a black iron pedestal and a crystal ball. A cauldron of some reeking potion boiled in the fireplace. A long table held all manner of flasks and vials, and bunches of dried herbs hung from the balcony railing. It was without a doubt the lair of an evil wizard.

But there was no evil wizard to be found. The only creature in the room was a scraggly mongrel dog. He sprang up from beneath the table and capered about when Legolas appeared. "You've come, you've come!" he cried in ecstasy. "Oh, this is so exciting!"

"Yes, I have come," said Legolas dubiously. "But the villain would appear to be absent."

"Yep," said the dog, wagging away. "He vanished for a minute. He does that sometimes. Just goes up in a puff of smoke, like – poof! It's weird."

"I see," said Legolas. "So." And he waited for the Guide to continue.

The dog cocked his head, and a vacant look crossed his face. "So what?"

Legolas restrained a sigh. "When will he return, and what am I to do?"

"Oh!" said the dog eagerly. "He'll be here, he'll be right back! This is the location of the great final battle, yes it is!"

"Very well. What are my instructions?"

The dog sat down to scratch at a flea. "It's simple. You ... just a second ... ooh, that itches ... grrrr .... Oh, sorry. What was I saying?"

"My instructions...?

"Oh yeah! Right. Okay. What you've got to do is...." The dog trailed off and started sniffing the air. "Mmm, what's that smell? Kind of an earthy grassy breezy smell? Is that you? Oh, I like Elves! They always smell so pretty! Haldir smells like those mallorn trees, and Arwen, she smells like strawberries, and—" 

"By the stars!" exclaimed Legolas, "it is no wonder that hounds are seldom permitted to speak! Answer me and then be silent, if you wish to avoid an arrow to the hindquarters."

"Hey now, you don't need to get violent. I'm just doing my job, and it isn't my fault if you—" Then Legolas pretended to reach for his quiver, and the dog yipped and hid under the table. "All right! Okay! Geez! You have to defeat the wizard! Defeat Finrond and end the Story!"

That was all Legolas needed to hear. A dry smile curled his lips, and he raised his voice until it rang through the chamber. "Then this mighty sorcerer will deign to show himself in my presence? Or perhaps he is afraid!"

Barely had the echo of his words died away when a sudden gale buffeted the fortress like an angry giant. A panel of the window swung against the wall and shattered, and as the wind howled into the room the fire sputtered and went out. The floor below was plunged into shadow. Then, slowly, the crystal ball began to glow with a cold blue light. 

All of this took about five minutes. Legolas was patient. 

At last the light of the crystal burst into blinding radiance. The room was engulfed in a whirlwind. It spun faster and faster, drawing into itself until it was a glowing column of smoke. The light winked out, and when Legolas looked again the column was gone. In its place stood Finrond, his arms raised, his eyes flashing, his hair and robes billowing around him.

And to think, all Legolas had done was walk through the door!

"Infidel!" bellowed Finrond. "You dare to defy me? Come, then – come forward and face devastation! 

"I shall," said Legolas grandly, "and the devastation shall be your own!" For this, of course, is the way you speak to a run-of-the-mill evil villain when you need time to think. 

"You are too late," said Finrond. "Enóreth is cursed forever, and the Fellowship is doomed! Victory is mine!"

"Nay, you speak too quickly. The maiden's curse is broken. And by my bow, you shall never lay a hand upon her again!" 

Finrond responded with scorn. "Ha! So you've broken my curse, have you? A small setback, nothing more! Neither your bow nor any weapon wielded by any hand can harm me! Your struggles are in vain! Surrender!"

"Death first!" declared Legolas. 

"Then death you shall have!" Finrond cried. Lightning flashed across the window, followed by a crack of thunder. "Thou miserable fool! Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards!"

This dialogue could have gone on for several hours if Legolas had let it. But time was dragging in his eagerness to be away, and he could hide his derision for only so long. He dropped his majestic stance and laughed. "For they are subtle and quick to anger," he said mockingly. "Pretty words indeed! If you will not uphold your end of the bargain, why should I?"

The wizard howled with rage; for quick to anger he was, even if other details had been neglected. He flung out his hand and his magicks sprang forth in tongues of flame. Legolas darted to one side and was unharmed. Again did Finrond unleash his fury in sparks and smoke toward the balcony. Again and easily did Legolas avoid it. The wizard's power was as dazzling as fireworks on a summer night and almost as dangerous.

That got old rather quickly, as you can imagine. Legolas had soon had enough. He sprang over the railing and dropped to the ground floor, on his feet and nimble as a cat. Then, drawing an arrow from his quiver, he advanced upon his enemy. Seeing the elven warrior in all his fury, wondrous fair and terrible to behold, even Finrond the Purple hesitated. And who could blame him! Very few derivative fantasy characters would have kept their confidence, facing a bona fide son of Thranduil with his ire up.

"This ends now," said Legolas in a low voice. Deadly intent gleamed in his eyes.

Finrond scrambled to regain his aplomb. "Ha!" he cried, and lifted his staff aloft. A fiery red light enveloped him. "No living being shall hinder me! For I am the conqueror of worlds, mightier than Sauron himself, trained to mastery in the arts of Dark—"

_"Silence!"_ Legolas roared. The wizard was taken aback. Slowly, deliberately, Legolas bent his bow and let the arrow fly. Finrond swept up his arm with a whirl of long robes. The arrow burned to ashes in the air.

"There!" said Finrond, triumphant (and quite relieved). He sprang to the dais and stood there wrapped in a flame so intense that Legolas was forced to draw back. "So much for the strength of the Elves! And now I shall crush you, you pathetic weakling! Prepare to meet your doom!!! BWAH-HAHAH—Agh! Ugh! Gyuh!"

He staggered back, clutching at his wounded breast. In his spite, he had committed the crucial and oft-overlooked error of laughing maliciously before he was sure of his victory. And Legolas, anticipating just such a mistake, had fired off three arrows while Finrond was not paying attention.

Finrond had never in his life been so dumbfounded. "You ... you _shot_ me, you little wanker!"

Legolas did not bother to reply. Another arrow soared and struck home, and Finrond went floundering against the wall, gasping and raging in impotent fury. Meanwhile, the dog was leaping about in great excitement. "Ooo, that musta hurt!" he yapped gleefully. "The head! Shoot him in the head!"

And Legolas very well could have if he had wanted to. The wizard's power had been broken by his wounds, and not even the fiercest of his spells could do harm. Yet Legolas was troubled, and long before his quiver was empty he laid the bow aside. This was far too easy. More to the point, it was not working. Skewered with arrows though he was, Finrond lived; the Story showed no sign of ending. Legolas called to the Guide: "What am I missing?" 

"Oh! Oh, I know this one!" The dog sat down and thought very hard, thumping his tail against the floor. "Wait, don't tell me! You, um ... drat, what was it...!"

"Any time now," muttered Legolas.

Finally the Guide sprang to his feet. "I've got it!" he cried. "The necklace! You have to use the necklace!"

"Then let it be done," said Legolas grimly, "and this burden lifted from me." He drew Enóreth's necklace from his tunic and strode forward. 

The moment of doom had come. Finrond gazed up at Legolas as he approached and saw his own destruction. Fear then smote the wizard as it never had before, and flinging himself on his face he made one final plea for his life. "Mercy, mercy, I beg!" cried he. "Do not strike me down when I lie broken at your feet! I will do anything you ask!"

It may have been pity that stopped Legolas in that moment, for he knew that Finrond was even more a slave to the Story than he himself. Or perhaps some intuition came to him, foreboding that there were details yet unaccounted for. Whatever the cause, Legolas lowered the necklace and gazed sternly upon his foe. "You surrender yourself to my will?" he demanded. "You swear to do exactly as I say?"

Finrond nodded vigorously.

"Then leave," said Legolas. "Banish yourself from this place and never return." 

"I will!" gasped the wizard. "And I release Enóreth from her servitude! She is free!"

Legolas blinked; he had forgotten all about her for a moment. "Oh," he said. "Enóreth. Right. Very well, you are free to go." 

Finrond staggered to his feet with an ingratiating smile. "You are indeed generous!" he said. "My deepest thanks, noble prince, for your...."

"Enough of this," said Legolas tiredly. "I had no desire to fight this battle, and I want nothing more to do with any of you. Be gone from my sight!" And he turned away to leave the Story behind forever. 

Yet there was more to come. In the malice of Finrond's heart no true gratitude could be stirred, and it goaded him to be thus cast aside, stripped of all dignity and disregarded. He gazed upon Legolas and knew that a brighter world awaited the Elf at the Story's end, a world with depth and purpose, in which legends were cherished and lived on through the passage of time. Despair and hatred swept over him at the thought. With a snarl, he drew a knife from within his robes and lunged forward.

But Legolas was already whirling to counter the attack, for he had been in this Story far too long not to expect such an age-old cliché. Dodging the blow, he unfurled the necklace and swung it down with all his strength. The heavy diamond chain snapped like a whip around the handle of the knife. There it tangled, and a quick snapping motion jerked the weapon from Finrond's grip. Legolas did not waste another moment. He grasped the knife with both hands, lifted it high, and plunged it through Finrond's heart all the way to the hilt. 

"Eewww," said the dog cringing. "There goes this Story's PG rating."

Legolas drew out the blade as Finrond fell, intending to cut off his head just to be safe. But the moment he did, a very strange thing happened. The wizard's eyes became as blank and white as eggshells and his skin paled to a dreadful waxen hue. He did not bleed as a mortal would, nor did he burn away as evil wizards have been known to do. (And no, he did not go up in steam wailing "I'm melting! Melting!" Even this Story has its limits.) Instead, he merely crumbled. Once defeated, robbed of the Author's interest, his body was no more than a half-formed lump of clay moulded by childish fingers. It sagged to a heap on the floor amid purple robes and clumps of hair, and there it oozed with an unpleasant smell. Legolas gazed at it in disgust, then threw the knife point-downward into the mess with a flick of his wrist. The broken necklace dangled listlessly from the handle. The law of the Story had been satisfied.

"It is over," said Legolas.

The dog whined nervously. "Oh no," he said cowering, "it isn't over, it isn't, not yet!"

Legolas turned on him in anger. "Not yet!" he exclaimed. "I have done all you asked! What more do you want of me?"

But the Guide seemed too frightened to answer. All at once he looked to the door, scrambled about in great haste, and darted out of the chamber with his tail between his legs. Legolas called after him, but it was too late; he was off and running. And now there were footsteps approaching. Prancing footsteps.

"Legolas...?"

His heart sank, and he lowered his head. "Yes, Enóreth."

The maiden stepped into view. She leaned against the doorframe, breathing in dainty gasps with her hand to her throat. Her red hair tumbled around her in a riot of carefully-tousled curls. "Is he..." she asked tremulously, "is he dead?"

Something about her voice put Legolas on edge. "Yes," he said, eyeing her. "Finrond is dead. You are free." 

Enóreth started to cry. "Oh, I was so lost – so alone!" she whimpered. "I had nothing worth living for until you came! You have saved me!" She stumbled toward him and put out her arms. "Oh, Legolas! My love! my love!"

Legolas drew back with a stab of panic in his heart. All the signs of a Dramatic Kissing Scene (leading to heaven only knows what else) were making themselves known. Too late he looked about him for a means of escape, but a relentless grip fell upon his limbs and rooted him to the spot. "No," he whispered miserably. "No, please...."

But the Forces would not be persuaded, and only redoubled their influence. Legolas was driven forward. Enóreth was but a step away; her hands reached, claw-like, for his head; he would be entangled in her embrace like a fly in a spider's web. Closing his eyes in despair, he felt her icy fingers against his face and prepared himself for the worst...

... then sat upright with a ragged gasp. All at once, the gloomy chamber had disappeared from his sight. In its place were the walls and ceiling of a comfortable white room. Legolas was reclining on a couch, and a damp cloth had been placed upon his forehead. Enóreth was nowhere to be found. 

"Well hello there!" said a voice. "I was wondering when you were going to snap out of it."

Legolas looked to the speaker. "You!" he cried sharply. But in his voice rang a note of relief so earnest it was closer to a cry of joy. Seated in a chair beside him was the Secretary, keeper of the Fan Fiction realm. Rather plain, oddly dressed, and a bit too perky for her own good – but to Legolas she seemed an angel. 

"Is it finished?" he said desperately. "Tell me, I beg you, have I reached the end?"

"You have reached The End," said the Secretary cheerfully. "So you can stop shaking like a leaf, Legolas, it's over. She's gone."

Legolas shuddered again in spite of himself. His heart still pounded from the fright. "I thought I was doomed," he said. "It was dreadful – she was about to...."

"Oh, I don't doubt she was," the Secretary replied, and gestured with a copy of the manuscript. She flipped through it, reading idly as she spoke. "That particular Scene goes on for a good several pages, but we managed to pull you out a little early. I daresay you've been through enough without...." A paragraph caught her attention; her eyebrows shot up. "My goodness!"

"What is it?" Legolas asked, then immediately added, "No! No, do not tell me. I need only be grateful to have escaped such a fate."

The Secretary chuckled and laid the pages aside. "Well, it's all behind you now. You've completed your Story, and you're going home." Then she pulled a stern face and wagged her finger at him. "By the way, I should be very upset with you. That's not what the Author meant with the necklace idea and you know it."

"Bah," scoffed Legolas. "If the Author refuses to write more clearly than that, it is no concern of mine."

"Well, you've probably got a point there," she replied with a grin. "And off the record, that was really very clever. I'm impressed!"

Legolas sighed and rubbed his aching brow. "And I am exhausted," he said. "Please tell me I shall be left alone for a good while after this."

"Don't worry; you've more than covered your duties for the next two months. And I don't think the Forces will be too eager to deal with you again, after all the stunts you pulled. Here," she said, and placed a fresh cloth and a small leather flask on the table. "Lord Elrond sent up some of that _miruvor_ liquor from Imladris. He said it's to help renew your heart and mind. Personally, I think he guessed you'd be needing a better taste in your mouth."

Even so small a word and gesture came as a blessing to Legolas. He gazed at the flask in a reverie. More than a token of friendship, it was a memory of Middle-earth, her history, her peoples noble and brave. Never had his world seemed so beautiful to him, or so worthy a cause to protect. "When may I return?" he asked softly.

The Secretary gave him an understanding look. "Soon," she said. "It will take time for the effects of the Story to wear off, but only a little. You've always been quick to recover, you know. Perhaps the Stories are harder for you than for most, but you always succeed and make it home stronger and wiser than before. Although, of course," she added with a smile, "you aren't aware of it by the time you get back." 

Legolas could not help but smile in his turn. Already the Story was beginning to fade from his mind, as mist before the morning sun. He felt drowsy and content. "Thank you," he said. "Come what may, I hope to remember your kindness when we meet again."

The Secretary blushed and laughed, quite unsure of what to do with herself at such a compliment. "Oh dear, it's nothing, nothing at all. You're quite welcome, I'm sure," she said bashfully, and patted his shoulder. Then she got to her feet and composed herself, and a touch of gravity filled her expression. "Now get some rest. You have a long day's chase ahead of you."

With that she walked out of the room and closed the door. Legolas gratefully accepted the comforts she had left him, and soon he was very much his old self again. Soothed by the warming liquor and the blessed silence of the Lounge, he lay back and fell at once into a deep sleep. 

* * *

**Coming Up:** Epilogue


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Legolas get through this twisted fairy tale without losing his sanity?

As the first gleam of sunlight crept over the Rohan plains, it brought with it a change in the air. Blowing softer and warmer from the South, the wind set the grass whispering and stirred Legolas' long hair about his shoulders. Lifting his eyes, the Elf was startled to find that he had dozed as he stood his watch. Immediately he was alert and cautious. To his sight, little of the world had changed. Aragorn and Gimli lay quietly nearby.

"But what mystery is this?" he exclaimed softly. His knife was removed from its sheath and lay in the grass at his feet. He picked it up and fingered it, baffled as to how it had come to be there. Had he reached for it while in the grip of a dream? Was some foe drawing nigh that he would seek to guard himself? But no – all around him the plains were empty. The land spoke only of urgency, of vigilance to the day ahead. And as he searched, Legolas found that he was glad to gaze upon the rolling hills before him, somehow familiar and welcoming despite the grim task he faced.

Very glad, actually. It was most peculiar. 

Soon enough the thought was banished from his mind. The sky was aflame with the sunrise, and the sight of it stirred his heart. Swiftly Legolas turned and bent over his companions as they slept. 

"Awake! Awake!" he cried. "It is a red dawn. Strange things await us by the eaves of the forest. Good or evil, I do not know; but we are called. Awake!"

The others sprang up, and almost at once they set off again. Slowly the downs drew near. It was still an hour before noon when they reached them: green slopes rising to bare ridges that ran in a straight line towards the North....

THE END

* * *

**Coming Up:** Notes, Acknowledgements, and Random Details


	12. Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Legolas get through this twisted fairy tale without losing his sanity?

This story was brought to you by L'Oréal Feria Hair Color in Pure Moonlit Blonde (Because You're Worth It), Excedrin Migraine (Powerful Relief Without A Prescription), and the letter G. 

To the kind people who have been keeping up with the chapters and leaving reviews: y'all are fabulous. 

Sindarin translation from Chapter 8:  
 _Daro, melethril_. _Renech nin, Brennil o Cúran? Tiro nin; lasto beth nin._  
Wait, my love. Do you remember me, Lady of the Crescent Moon? Look at me; hear my voice [listen to me].

Many thanks to The Sindarin Dictionary (http://www.jrrvf.com/~hisweloke/sindar/) and Liv Tyler. ;o)

The line "It was not the last time that he wished that!" in the third chapter is directly quoted from _The Hobbit_ by J.R.R Tolkien; the last paragraphs of the epilogue (beginning with "Awake! Awake!") are from _The Two Towers_ ; other references are courtesy of _The Silmarillion._ In borrowing the characters and writing style for my story, I give humble thanks to the Professor and offer profuse apologies for the errors I'm sure he'd be able to point out.

Enóreth's necklace is indeed "The Heart of the Ocean" from _Titanic_ , and the "fifty-six carats" line is a quote from the film _._ Once I decided on that little detail, my mental image of Enóreth started to look suspiciously like Kate Winslet. Hey, Kate's a fun lady; she'd make a good Enóreth. 

Though I relied on the books for my interpretation of Legolas and tried to write him to fit the mental image of a Tolkien reader (notice that his hair colour is ambiguous and he has one knife, not two) I will admit that I had Orlando Bloom in mind. He is, after all, the image of Legolas that attracts Mary Sues right and left. And he kinda kicks ass, so what the hey. 

Enóreth is an homage to every author who keeps the Lounge's Mary Sue room full to bursting. Because really, where would we parody writers be without you? 

I wrote _The Story of Legolas and Enóreth_ in the fond hope that it would follow in the footsteps of other excellent LOTR fan fiction parodies. Much inspiration came from Kielle's _Nine Men and a Little Lady_ (http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?Storyid=536905), Triskelion's _Middle-earth Meets Mary Sue_ (http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?Storyid=581483), and Cassie Claire's _The Very Secret Diaries_ (http://home.nyu.edu/~amw243/diaries/). Read them. They're a scream. And finally, the images of Enóreth clinging to Legolas' ankle and Legolas tied to a pillar with his tunic undone are dedicated to my dear friend Nicola, who has a Legolas trap set up in her back yard. Nicky, if you do catch him, make sure you remember to feed him and clean out his cage every so often and above all _keep him away from the beachfront,_ because he will insist on leaping into the surf if he so much as hears a seagull. Silly Elf.


End file.
